Such a Strange Fate
by Clever Hobbit
Summary: Morgoth challenges the Valar to a game for the dominion of Arda.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing that you may (or may not) recognize. All of it belongs to the marvelous JRR Tolkien.

AN: I would really appreciate any criticism you may have on this, please!

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The Void was a dark and barren waste of nothingness, stretching on and on forever. No silver starlight shone in the blinding darkness, no warmth from the golden sun eased the bitter ache of cold emptiness, no scent, no smell, no feeling- an utterly devoid and forlorn place. It was impossible to imagine even the smallest life-form to live in such a condemned stretch of blackness, yet there was one that lived, and had grown used to knowing and feeling nothing, age upon age of nothing. He was a terrible being, dark and horrid, a menace to any and all living things.

He was waiting.

Suddenly, the smallest breath of wind passed through the Void and touched his face. He raised his dark head and gazed in the breeze's direction. A tiny pinprick of light, pale and beautiful, had appeared. As the light became clearer, the vague outline of a glowing figure was visible, growing and growing until it was its true size. A multitude of winds and breezes clamored about his form. Hurricane winds tugged at the ends of his pure blue garb, gales swept around him, and the tiniest whispers of wind, the beats of sparrow-wings, rippled through his hair. The figure spoke, his voice as loud as the crack of trees toppling, crueler than the wind that whistles about the mountain-peaks, yet softer than the flap of butterfly wings and as comforting as a summer breeze.

"You sent for me? Why? Speak!"

The dark figure smiled, showing his yellow, rotting teeth. "I have a proposition for a- a game of sorts, one may say, with high stakes." His voice, rasping and ghastly, grated upon the ears of the other. "Very high stakes."

"What sort of stakes?" the other said coldly.

The dark figure waved his hand, and an enormous model of Arda sprang up from the nothingness. "All of Arda."

"What is your game?"

"My servant Sauron has forged a great Ring of Power. He is under siege in his Tower, and the final battle is taking place. I will play one of you Valar for the dominion of Arda. If Sauron succeeds in breaking the siege, taking over Middle-earth, and I win, you release me from my imprisonment in the Void."

"And if you lose?"

"If Sauron is defeated and truly destroyed, then I withdraw him from Arda entirely, and leave every last orc, troll, and goblin at the mercy of Men and Elves. I shall never meddle in the business of Arda again. What say you, Manwë?"

"Every last demonic creation of yours destroyed, and you remain in your prison, with no protest from you at all?"

"Exactly."

"Swear to it. Swear in the name of one you see fit to."

The dark figure raised a hand and said, "I swear by the name of Iluvatar, creator of all, that if I should lose this game, I will allow all evil in Arda to be vanquished, and any ways I may have to poison the minds of Men and Elves shall be destroyed."

With that promise, Manwë smiled grimly. "Now I say we play."

The dark figure nodded, and lifted his hand. A second board appeared. It had a flat surface, and appeared to be blank. The figure's fingers twitched, and the surface swirled and focused upon Middle-earth, zooming in upon the siege of the Dark Tower, where two armies could be seen marching towards one another- an array of Men and Elves against an enormous horde of orcs. The image froze. On the first board, marble figures sprang into existence around the miniscule model of the Tower.

"Here are the pieces," the dark figure said. "The key figures of this battle, this last stand. Royalty, acclaimed warriors- Gil-Galad, Elendil, Isildur, Anarion, and others. If you wish to concern yourself with lesser soldiers, that is your affair- new pieces will be created if you wish for that to be so. I shall manipulate Sauron and his forces. The game shall endure until one side is ultimately defeated. Shall we make the rules?"

"Yes. Continue," said Manwë, his voice echoing with the timelessness of the heavens itself.

"No, after you," the dark one sneered softly.

"No giving the ability to do amazing feats. If a character is to be strong, then he will have had to work to be strong, not instantly have strength because you will it to be so."

"Only one Vala may play against me at a time. You may switch players if one of you is better suited to do something than the other, but you may not switch if we are in a key moment of the game, say the heat of a battle for example."

"Fair. My second rule is that neither side shall bring new characters into existence. You must not affect how fast the orcs are being produced for your armies, and we may not affect the birth of Men and how they are formed naturally. We must let creation continue as it is supposed to."

"No forcing someone to act against their will. If a key figure makes a decision that you dislike, you cannot make them change their mind. You cannot stop them from doing what they want to do."

"That is also fair. No giving direct information to key characters. If Sauron doesn't know that there is a plot to overthrow him that could possibly succeed, you cannot send a whisper into his ear telling him of the details. You may, however, give slight, minute warnings, such as sense of urgency if there is danger nearby."

"Fine. I believe these rules are enough to play by," the dark figure said, a glint of malice in his eye. Soon, he thought to himself, soon he may be free!

"Not entirely." Manwë stared at the dark figure before him. "No cheating. I know you well, Morgoth. No cheating at all. You may deceive and trick the Vala playing against you, and lie to them to veil your plot, but no cheating when making moves. None."

Morgoth glared at him venomously. One of his loopholes had collapsed. It was of little consequence. He had many more tricks and deceptions. He had thought of this carefully.

"Very well. I accept these rules. Do you?"

"I accept."

"Who shall be the first Vala to play me?"

Manwë walked over to the boards, Morgoth limping behind him.

"Fingolfin's wounds still pain you?"

Morgoth scowled, giving Manwë his answer. He smiled coldly, and analyzed the boards critically before speaking, the winds about him rustling restlessly. "I believe I know who will be fit to play- someone who had been waiting a long time to see you again," he said finally, a dark smile upon his face.

"And who may that be, O Wind-master?" queried Morgoth, a sadistic smile on his face. He wanted the battle to begin- he wanted to see destruction again and, if all went the way he wanted, soon become part of the mayhem once more. There were almost none he feared.

"Tulkas. He knows how to deal with battles. And with you."

Morgoth paled visibly, but said nothing. Tulkas, the one who had done battle with him when he had been known as Melkor, when the World had still been young. One of the few that had the ability to stir fear deep inside of Morgoth's blackened heart. Trust Manwë to think of him.

"Call for Tulkas," Morgoth said, "and then the game shall begin."


	2. Tulkas: The Last Alliance

Apologies for not updating for several months. My muse escaped me and took a vacation to Eru knows where.

This chapter is a bit of a blend of the movie-battle and the book-battle. Ex: Anarion dies a year before Sauron's downfall. Just small things like that.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of this at all, nor would I even dare to claim to.

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Morgoth studied the board carefully, planning his strategy against Tulkas. Even he had to grudgingly admit that Tulkas was frighteningly amazing in battle. He knew he would have to play cleverly, but he still had confidence that he would defeat the Alliance.

"Greetings, Dark One," said a laughing voice. Morgoth glanced behind him. There stood Tulkas, his golden hair lightly blowing in the wake of Manwë's winds. He had a smile on his face; he smiled at the thought of a challenge. "Let us see what you have come up with for our game." Manwë and Tulkas approached the boards, and Manwë began to explain the rules.

While Manwë softly spoke to Tulkas and Tulkas studied the boards, a third being came into the Void beside them. The figure was clad in a rich garb, covered with many detailed, minute creatures embroidered over every inch of cloth. There were Men, Elves, beasts, Balrogs, orcs, and trolls in the wonderful design. Even the slightest movement or rustle caused the finely-stitched creatures to move, seeming to dance with one another, regardless of species. Fish swam through the air to dance with birds, Men and Elves moved with orcs, and not even the Balrogs found themselves lacking a partner to swirl with in the dance of Time that was embroidered into the garment.

"I thought that I might watch," said the newcomer, eyeing the boards with interest. "It is not often that I witness with my eyes what I am to weave."

"Vairë," Morgoth said, giving a mock bow.

"Morgoth," Vairë the Weaver replied, giving an equally mocking nod. She made a small gesture with her hand, and a loom with a basket of threads appeared alongside the boards.

"No assisting Tulkas if you are to be here," Morgoth warned.

"I am aware of the rules- I have already woven them into a tapestry in the halls. This will be interesting," she said, and began to select threads to weave the approaching battle.

Manwë, satisfied that Tulkas was fully informed of all of the rules, stepped away from the boards. "I will leave you to your battle. May you fare well, Tulkas." Manwë vanished, his winds leaving with him. Tulkas smiled his fighting smile once more.

"Shall we begin?"

In response, Morgoth limped to the boards and flicked his fingers, unfreezing the image on the flat board. He created a bench out of the nothingness of the Void and sat, resting his bad leg. Tulkas remained standing, preferring to pace around and study the boards as he walked.

"Who shall have the first move?"

"There are no first moves until one of us sees something that we wish to manipulate," replied Morgoth, watching the board with the images. It showed the two armies marching towards each other. There was a grim look in the eyes of the soldiers of the Alliance as the armies drew closer. The orcs leered at them, calling out battle cries in the Black Speech. Morgoth felt a small burst of pride as he looked at the descendants of his first hideous creations.

Tulkas paid little attention to the images- he concentrated on the model. The marble figures had become living stone and moved as the beings in the images did. Soon the armies in the images drew their swords and charged, as did the figures on the model. Unlike the images, the figures did not appear to be fighting anything. They looked as though they were fighting air. Tulkas looked surprised for a moment (to Morgoth's pleasure) but quickly recovered when he recalled why this was so. The orc underlings and Alliance soldiers were not key players, so they did not appear. Tulkas concentrated for a moment and the common soldiers, Man, Elf, and orc, sprang onto the board. Morgoth nearly laughed aloud when he saw that Tulkas had lost sight of the Kings and the key players in the fray, but Tulkas gave them a golden sheen to make them stand apart from the commoners when he realized what had happened.

Morgoth began his attack as Tulkas began to work out his strategy. Morgoth's plan was to eliminate the Kings first, and then to move on to Elendil's sons, followed by the stronger warriors. The first step was to dispose of the personal guards of the Kings. Morgoth reached out with his thoughts, nudging the feeble minds of orc archers that were in range to shoot, subtly suggesting that they move their bows just the slightest bit left or right for a better target. Though no time passed in the Void, the final hours of the Siege passed, and soldiers surrounding Elendil and Gil-Galad began to fall.

_Elendil drew a sharp breath as the bodyguard on his right fell, an orc-arrow sticking from his throat. The orcs were directing their fire at Gil-Galad and himself, but so far the orcs had missed them, instead hitting the guards on the sides. Elendil could not help but wonder if perhaps they were not aiming for him at all, as the guards were being shot methodically. There were few left, and they had enough problems fending off the onslaught of orcs, let alone arrows from ranks of archers. Elendil was unsure if his sons, who were fighting Sauron's armies together with a different group of bodyguards some distance away, noticed. He glanced over to Isildur to ensure that he was not hit, and then turned his attention to Anarion, who had managed to somehow become separated from his brother._

_Suddenly Anarion stumbled backwards, blood trickling down his face. An arrow had grazed his temple. The orc Anarion had been fighting took advantage of his distraction and plunged his blade into a gap in his armor at the left arm. Anarion fell back and slashed at the orc, cutting off his arm. The orc roared in pain as Anarion stabbed his blade into his chest. The orc fell, but not before striking out wildly in hopes of wounding his enemy before his death. The orc's blade swung up towards Anarion's neck and slit his throat before he could defend himself. _

"_Anarion!" Elendil cried. He fought his way over to the still body, but his son was dead._

Morgoth smiled grimly. Although Anarion had not been the one he had been targeting, he was still pleased. One down, he thought to himself. Tulkas cursed himself for not seeing this attack and began to apply himself to defensive instead of offensive. He watched the orcs firing at Elendil and Gil-Galad carefully, and then touched Elendil's thoughts, letting the idea of lifting his shield drift across the mortal King's mind.

_Elendil closed his son's eyes reverentially. He motioned to a few soldiers to remove his body so it would not be desecrated. There was nothing he could do, and he threw himself into the battle, weeping hot tears of sorrow and fury. Out of nowhere, a thought rose up in his mind: _I must lift my shield!_ Elendil lifted it without a second thought and an arrow whistled through the air to thud into the shield. He had no time to wonder at how he knew what to do- the attack still raged on fiercely._

Morgoth grimaced. Tulkas had caught on to his game. Perhaps it was time to call Sauron out of his Tower. He probed the mind of his servant gently, attempting to plant a seed of thought,but found no need to provoke Sauron- he was already preparing to leave his Tower to attack. Morgoth merely had to wait for him to emerge for the real chaos to begin. He was not disappointed.

_A sudden chill fell over the entire battlefield. Though the fight raged on, the cries of mourning and vengeance, the clash of sword and arrow upon shield, became muted. Elendil paused and looked towards the Dark Tower, dreading what he would see._

_It was Him- the Lord of the Rings._

On the model, a piece taller than the rest emerged from the Tower. He began to make his way towards Elendil and Gil-Galad. None who stood in his way were left standing. Morgoth was pleased that his servant had grown so powerful, but was concerned at the same time. He wondered, upon his return to Arda, if he would have to find some way to control Sauron's power. Possibly, he mused, he could seize the Ring, giving him an even greater power: power over the Nine, the Three, and the Seven, while also putting Sauron back under his control.

Considering this, he watched the images carefully to make sure that Sauron was still steadily progressing.

_Elendil knew that Sauron was heading straight for the heart of the battle and was prepared to meet the Dark Lord. He had suspected that He would emerge as soon as the battle had begun to tip in the Alliance's favor to create carnage and destruction. He had already killed many brave soldiers with his dreadful power. Many others who had been unfortunate to be in his path were not dead but horribly mutilated. Their cries of pain were quickly silenced by nearby orcs who were mad with bloodlust._

_Removing Narsil from the chest of an orc he had stabbed and moving to stand beside Gil-Galad, Elendil prepared for battle with the Dark Lord. They were not long in waiting._

_Sauron soon broke through the ranks, his mace in hand and the Ring gleaming on his finger, the fine lines of writing visible from the heat of his hand. He looked towards Elendil and the Elf-king in a challenge. Gil-Galad cried out, "Elbereth!" and leapt forward, Aiglos pointed directly towards a gap in the Dark Lord's armor. Elendil followed, brandishing Narsil and calling the names of his kingdoms, but repeating one name over and over: "Anarion! Anarion!"_

_Sauron deftly blocked the blows of both Elendil and Gil-Galad. Swinging his mace, He brought it about to smash Gil-Galad in the head. The Elf-king dodged the blow and once more thrust the gleaming point of Aiglos towards Sauron. He blocked once more and sung the mace again. This time he did not miss. He struck Gil-Galad in the very center of his chest. He was flung against the boulders strewn about. Elendil stared in horror as the light of Gil-Galad's eyes faded._

_Thus distracted, he did not see how Sauron's mace came back around. All he felt was a terrible pain, the sensation of being thrown backwards before coming harshly to a stop. Blood flowed from a gash on his head, feeling hot as it trickled down his face. The last thing he heard was his son crying out before everything went black._

Morgoth took a moment to glance up at Tulkas. A rare glint of anger and bitterness was in his eye. He looked shaken, having lost two kings in two blows. _Not accustomed to defeat, I see,_ Morgoth thought in a vicious amusement. He ignored Tulkas and turned back to the game. All there remained to do was to massacre the rest of the Alliance and get rid of Elendil's son.

_Isildur fought his way over to his father's prone body. He felt for a pulse, and felt his heart sink when he found none. A shadow passed over him. He turned to see Sauron standing over him, his mace poised to swing down._

Morgoth was intently watching the images so intently that he did not notice Tulkas. He was looking at the board, a spark of hope in his eyes. He looked at the figure of Sauron standing over Isildur and noted Elendil's blade. He quickly touched Isildur's mind and planted the images of the Ring on Sauron's finger and Narsil in his mind, hoping that Isildur would put two and two together in time.

_Isildur saw the Ring on Sauron's finger, the red letters shining beautifully, tempting him. It sang a song of power and might in his mortal heart and awoke an alluring voice from deep within him. It called to him. He needed that Ring!_

_Isildur reached for his father's sword. Sauron slammed his foot down upon the blade, the force of the blow causing it to splinter, leaving Isildur with merely a hilt shard. Isildur did not pay mind to that- a hilt shard was enough for his purposes. He swung the shard towards the Ring, the strange lightness of the blade causing him to put in far more power into the swing than was necessary. He cut Sauron's finger cleanly off, the Ring falling to the ground along with it._

_The armies, both of the Alliance and of Sauron, watched in bewilderment as Sauron's body disintegrated into nothing._

Tulkas gave a cheer of victory and laughed. "You have lost, O Dark One," he said mockingly. "Now you must give up all claim on Arda and leave it be forever!"

Vairë the Weaver, who had been working industriously the entire time, beckoned Tulkas over to show him the final product. It was a meticulously-detailed weaving that depicted Isildur on the ground with the hilt shard of Narsil in his hand, waiting to strike the looming figure of Sauron. Tulkas looked at it admiringly. "Your finest work yet!" he proclaimed. "Although I daresay that some of Morgoth's defeats were equal to this," he said, throwing a glance over at Morgoth. Vairë said nothing, a troubled look on her face. Morgoth had not said anything yet as he normally would, and she wondered why.

She left her loom and crossed over to the tables where Morgoth was sitting. "What are you hiding?" she asked him.

Morgoth looked up at them, a knowing smile on his face. "You have not won."

"Yes we have!" Tulkas exclaimed. "Sauron has been defeated."

"Defeated, yes, but not destroyed. We are to play until Sauron is destroyed, and he is not."

"Were you blinded by staring at the Silmarils for too long? Did you not see his destruction?"

"I saw his _defeat_," Morgoth emphasized, "not his destruction. When he created the Ring, he poured much of himself into It. His life is bound to the Ring. As long as the Ring exists, he remains alive. Diminished, yes, but alive."

"Then where is the Ring now?"

"Look to your brave King of Gondor."

Tulkas crossed over to the boards. The Alliance was fighting off the last of the orcs, but Isildur did nothing to aid them. He simply stared at the golden Ring in the palm of his hand, paying no heed to the fact that it was burning the flesh.

"He won't get rid of It," Morgoth commented. "It's too strong for his mortal mind. There is too much of Sauron in It. He will keep It and become twisted."

"I'll make him destroy It!"

"You can't!" Morgoth said sharply, standing. "It is a rule! You cannot force a person to act against their own will!" There was a glint of triumph in Morgoth's dark eye.

Tulkas was furious, a rare thing. "You cheated!"

"I did not," Morgoth said calmly. "I abided by the rules. I did not cheat. There is no rule that says I cannot withhold key information."

Vairë touched Tulkas's arm. "I'm afraid he is right, for once."

"If I am right, then we must continue playing. Will you keep playing, Tulkas, or have you had enough and want somebody to take over for you?"

Tulkas was about to respond when Vairë shook her head at him. "I will play. I feel that this will be a time of setting the board, not battling."

Tulkas, obviously trying to restrain this unfamiliar feeling of anger, stepped down. "I shall inform Manwë of what has been happening," he said curtly, and vanished. Vairë moved back towards her loom and waved her hand. The tapestry vanished as well, sent away to adorn the Halls of Mandos.

Vairë took out a small hand loom and brought her basket of threads to the boards. She seated herself and settled in to watch, picking out the threads of the future.

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Criticism appreciated! 


	3. Interlude: A Council

I'm really sorry about this. I shouldn't take so long to update. Just a short chapter, for now: the next one will be longer by far.

I've gone back and fixed a few canonical mistakes in the Prologue.

Disclaimer: JRR Tolkien owns the characters and situation herein. I am merely playing with the could-bes and the what-ifs.

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Upon leaving the Void, Manwë shed his earthly form, his spirit intertwining with the icy cold winds high above Arda. He allowed the winds to bear him back to Taniquetil, considering all that had happened in the Void. He was troubled.

Arda had been plunged into the dark time where he could not see the end. Morgoth knew this, Manwë was sure, and had chosen this time to act for that reason. He tried to look into the future once more, but knew that his efforts would be in vain. He was correct- he was met with a dark, boiling storm cloud, blocking out any vision of what was to come.

Manwë needed Varda.

He wiped away all thoughts of the darkness and pictured a blue sky instead, becoming one with the winds, increasing his speed. Despite his worries, he felt the familiar sense of elation to be no more than a gust of air sweeping the sky. He allowed himself to be completely taken by the air until the Mountains of Aman came into view. He slowed his approach and regretfully disentangled his spirit from the wind, approaching Taniquetil. In his haste, he flew straight for his throne upon the mountain-top, and only reassumed his earthly form just before sitting. Varda had felt that he was coming and was already seated beside the throne. Wordlessly, he told her of Morgoth's challenge.

"We must look to the South," Varda murmured, "and see how Tulkas has fared."

Manwë nodded and looked towards Mordor. His gaze passed through the mist upon the seas and pierced the black fumes of Sauron's land. He could see a vast amount of soldiers, Elves and Men, cleaning up from a great battle. Far to the South, orcs were fleeing. Sauron was nowhere to be seen. At his side, Varda listened intently.

"I hear the celebrations and mourning of the Alliance," she said, "and the discontented whisperings of orcs, hidden away in dark places. They say Sauron has been defeated, but I fear that he is not."

"No. He is not. I can feel him," Manwë said grimly. They sat in silence, one listening, the other watching. Their silence was broken after a long time when Eönwë, the herald of Manwë, approached the throne.

"My Lord and Lady," he said, bowing deeply. "Tulkas has sent word by one of the eagles that he is coming. He wishes to speak to you."

"Thank you, Eönwë," Manwë said. The herald bowed once more and departed.

"Perhaps we shall find what new tricks Morgoth has," said Varda. She stood, her star-dusted silver raiment glittering in the fading sunlight. She looked for Tulkas and saw him ascending the mountain, fuming. She exchanged thoughts with Manwë, questioning the reason for Tulkas's anger. Manwë pondered this, and thought that perhaps they had underestimated Morgoth's cunning once more.

Tulkas reached the top of the summit and approached the throne. He scowled and said, "I have been tricked." He went on to tell his tale, explaining how the Kings had died, Sauron's fall, and Isildur taking the Ring. "It is my fault," he finished. "I put the images in his head, planted the seed of greed in his mind. The Ring cannot be wrested from him now; it would break him."

Manwë was silent for a long while, turning over the information in his mind. "It is not," he finally said, "your fault. Sauron would have defeated the Alliance, and then all would have been lost. You saved Arda, and that is not to be trifled with. I suggest we call the rest of the Valar to a council. We must all have a hand in the fate of Arda. Eönwë," he called. The herald appeared and bowed. "Send out Maiar to summon the rest of the Valar to a council. The sooner they can come, the better. Vairë can weave the future of Arda in the meantime, but we must be ready to take action once she has finished setting the board." He motioned for Eönwë to depart, and preparations went underway for the council.

Not even one week later, the council began. The other Valar, upon hearing the details of the matter at hand, came as soon as they could. Manwë looked upon all the Valar seated in a circle upon Taniquetil- even Ulmo, the Lord of the Waters, was there. Manwë had not looked for his coming, as it was not his habit to attend the councils, and was glad, for he had not seen him for many years.

Manwë stood before his fellow Valar with his arms spread, his blue robe billowing in the winds that were as his children. "I have summoned you here to deal with the ever-recurring menace of Morgoth, our fallen kinsman," he began, and recounted the deal made with Morgoth. Tulkas stood afterwards and told his tale, not without a slight tone of fury tingeing his voice as he spoke. Upon his conclusion, when he told of Morgoth's trick, a silence settled over them all as they thought upon the story. It was Mandos, the keeper of the Halls, his voice deep and unemotional, who spoke first.

"Vairë has taken over now," he said. "We can trust her to align things for us, no more. She will stop meddling with this game as soon as she feels her work is done."

Manwë nodded. "That was my thought," he said.

"I caught a small glimpse of the future," Mandos continued. "She will not return to the Halls for more than an Age." His voice, normally so impassive, held the smallest hint of regret and sadness.

"But when that time comes, we must be ready to take the board for her," Aulë interjected, fingering the finely-hammered edges of the belt of gold at his waist. "Who will be the one to do so?"

"We must look to what Vairë will set into motion," said Yavanna, "before we can decide who it will be that will go. If it suits me and my abilities, I will go. If it is better suited to another, they should be the one to go. If none wish to take the challenge, I will go."

"I have a wish to face Morgoth once more," said Oromë, the Hunter, in a grim voice, "though I feel that directly after Vairë will not be the best of times for me to fight. I will have my chance, though. I believe that this conflict will last longer than it was first thought."

"I, also, will play, if ever the need arises," Varda said.

One by one, all of the Valar consented to play if ever they were needed. They departed soon after, each waiting to be called.

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And far away in the Void, a smile crossed Vairë the Weaver's face as she continued to weave the images of the Valar's council into her loom. 


End file.
